He looked at her with a smile so bitter it felt like a physical blow. Olivia, finally shaking off the lingering haze of the morning, looked back at him with a flicker of confusion.
"What do you mean by that? I didn't hear you clearly," she asked, her voice laced with a growing, defensive agitation.
His eyes raked over her. She wasn't wearing her usual silks or the Luceron colors; she was dressed in simple, nondescript garments designed to vanish into the shadows. To him, it was the uniform of a woman returning from a clandestine tryst. He leaned in until his face was mere centimeters from hers, his breath cold against her skin.
"Hmm... my sweet," he murmured, his voice dripping with venomous sarcasm. "The kissing, the lingering touches, the scene you just performed... it was a masterful performance. You truly deserve a standing ovation."
"I am truly not in the mood for a quarrel this early in the morning," she snapped back, her exhaustion fraying her temper.
